


Sun, Moon, and Stars Forgot

by Neveroutoftime



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Combines AU with canon, Minor Character Death, Mithian's not an asshole, Multi, Titanic AU, even though shes the fiance, might change later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neveroutoftime/pseuds/Neveroutoftime
Summary: Titanic AU in which Merlin realizes that Arthur is returning on three occasions. One: He wakes up in 1890 looking younger than before. Two: He wakes up in 1907 to find Lancelot at an inn. Three: On April 10th, 1912 he and Lancelot win third class tickets on board a ship, the Titanic, to America. When he finds Arthur on board that ship, he realizes that Albion’s great time of need is at hand, and the king is needed now more than ever.





	1. Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet shitting lord this took me so long to put out. I've had this idea in mind since March, and I started writing it in August (I meant to have it out in June), but it's here, and hopefully it works out like I've planned. I tend to post in the late afternoon in the middle of the week, but other than that I've got no posting schedule, so here goes, folks.

Merlin realized that Arthur was returning on three occasions. The first occurred one Autumn morning in Paris, 1890, when he woke abruptly in his inn room bed hearing the familiar echo of his name, and a familiar sensation igniting in his fingertips. He’d sat up bolt right in bed, panting as much as his aged lungs would allow him, noting that breathing was easier than usual that morning despite the confusion settling into his mind as he wondered what the hell was happening to him. 

It didn’t quite dawn on him what was happening until he closed his eyes again, and the image of a face he hadn’t seen in fifteen hundred years appeared before him. Eyes more blue than the Atlantic gazed deeply into Merlin’s soul, and if it weren’t perfectly clear to him by then what was happening, it was certainly clear now. Especially when Arthur’s lips parted to utter out a single word, “Merlin.”

The second occurred in the winter of 1907 in Belfast, Ireland. After twenty years of traveling, searching for the resurrected king of Camelot, he’d seemingly found nothing. As the lines on his face disappeared and the gray faded from his hair, Merlin realized the time they’d find each other again was fast approaching. 

On this second realization that Arthur was indeed returning, he’d shed his last gray hair months ago, and he was now staring at his youthful reflection in the mirror of the most recent inn he’d decided to stay at. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter, and that was all he’d found he needed in his quest to find the once and future king.

He turned on the sink, drawing his hand back upon making contact with the freezing water, then he slowly reached back in, letting the water pool in his hand until he had enough to splash it onto his face. Shuddering at the contact from the icy water, he reached for a nearby hand towel, and rubbed his face dry with it, sighing as he looked up in the mirror. 

All of the lines on his face were gone. There was barely a trace of the man he once was; the man he’d been for over a millennium. He’d had time to get used to this face again as the years passed, but there was still something about seeing it that shook him to his core. Perhaps it was the reminder it brought him that Arthur was returning, that he would see him again one day soon. 

He just had to find him first, a task which was proving to be more arduous than the fifteen hundred years without Camelot’s king. In the past seventeen years since he’d first woken up to Arthur’s voice calling out his name, there hadn’t been any sign of the once and future king, and he’d searched most of England without so much as a mention of the Pendragon family. 

That morning in 1907 changed everything. As soon as the usual morning shock of seeing his reflection wore off, the sorcerer headed off in the direction of his bed, adjusting the straps of his suspenders as he went before he grabbed his coat off of the bed. It was an old, brown thing reminiscent of the one he used to wear around Camelot. He’d found it five years earlier in a shop in Yorkshire, a flurry of memories flashing in front of his eyes as he remembered all he’d done in the original model. 

He shook off the thoughts of Camelot  as he left his room, stopping only to grab the messenger bag he’d carried with him for the past ten years. It did him no good to reminisce on all he lost, but he’d been doing it more and more frequently these past several years since it became clear to him that he’d get it all back. 

As he’d done in mornings past, he headed out of the inn directly into the diner across the street, the irony of its name, The Rising Sun, not at all lost on him each time he walked in. Each time he walked in, he’d sit at the bar in the seat nearest to the window- he’d only been doing this for a week, mind you, but it had swiftly become routine- and he’d order the same cup of coffee every time. Since he’d lost hope in finding Arthur, he’d taken it black most days, and this week was no different. It had been his go to drink to a point one could call religious. 

This time was almost immediately different from every other time. Almost immediately after he walked through the door, he spotted another gentleman in the seat he always occupied. He would’ve been able to brush over the man, but his face was one Merlin could never forget, one he hadn’t seen in even longer a time than the last time he’d laid eyes on the king. For a moment he thought he was seeing things, but after a moment of staring-gawking, more accurately- he realized the man in his seat was definitely the man he thought he was. It was unmistakably Lancelot. 

Merlin’s feet moved before his mind did, taking him instantly in Lancelot’s direction. He wasn’t sure what would happen when he encountered the former knight, or if Lancelot would even remember who he was. He had no idea what reincarnation involved, or what it did to the human mind. All he knew was he had to take this risk, and if he didn’t, he’d regret it. 

“Lancelot?” he asked as he approached, his eyes looking him up and down as he cautiously took the seat beside him at the bar. He took another deep breath as the knight turned toward him, “It’s you.”

Lancelot’s eyes widened when they landed on him, “Merlin!” he cried gleefully, wrapping his arms around the sorcerer, “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

For the first time in over a thousand years, Merlin’s smile reached his eyes as he patted Lancelot’s back, and pulled away, “I thought I’d never see you again. Where are the others?”

“The others?” Lancelot asked confusedly.

Merlin frowned, “The other knights? Gwen?” he inquired as he pulled away, “Arthur?”

The man in front of him shook his head, “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen them,” he told Merlin, “I didn’t even know everyone else was returning. I thought it was just me. Didn’t even know who I was until one night my father read me the stories of Camelot- you’re quite famous, you know-”

“I know. Those stories are rubbish.”

Lancelot laughed, “Quite, but my father read them to me when I was twelve, and that night… All of it, my memories of you, Gwen… Arthur… all flooded back to me at once. I woke up in a cold sweat. Mum thought I had a fever.”

“Your mum?” Merlin asked, bewildered, “She’s back, too?”

A nod was given, “Merlin, I think everything’s back,” he explained, “Look at me, I’m younger than I was when you last saw me, aren’t I?”

Merlin looked his friend over again, and indeed Lancelot was much younger than he’d been in Camelot. There weren’t any lines on his face, the skin was smooth, untouched by time as if it had been nothing compared to the millennium since the last time Merlin saw him. He looked no older than twenty, maybe twenty one at most, and Merlin knew he’d been approaching thirty when he’d sacrificed himself to save him at the Isle of the Blessed. 

“We aren’t just back, Merlin, we’re reborn.”

Merlin nodded, having suspected much the same in the years since he’d woken up in a cold sweat of his own in the middle of the night, his own name on Arthur’s lips… But he hadn’t quite been reborn. No, he’d been forced to live the eternity between when everyone he’d loved died and when he met Lancelot in that tavern. 

“It’s not quite the same for me,” Merlin replied, “No, I’ve been here since Camelot.”

“What?”

He gave his friend a solemn look, “I celebrated my one thousandth birthday centuries ago. I’ve been around awhile.”

“A millennium.”

“Yeah,” Merlin breathed, “I woke up about twenty years ago dreaming about Camelot, and I heard Arthur’s voice. He just said one word, my name, but I knew... I’ve been searching all over the country for him since.”

“Just the country?”

“Yeah, figured if Arthur’s gonna be anywhere, it’s here.”

“But have you found him yet?”

“... No…”

Lancelot quirked an eyebrow in Merlin’s direction, raising his beer to his lips, and taking a sip before he spoke again, “Perhaps it’s time to expand your search. There’s entire continents he could be on. He’s out there somewhere. It’s possible he’s even waiting for you to find him. Not just him, either. The other knights could be out there…” A glimmer of hope in his eyes, “Gwen could be out there.”

Merlin thought over what his friend was suggesting for a moment. Seeking out Arthur in Britain had already been a gruelling task. He’d spent time in more towns than he cared to count, some of them twice, in his mission to find the once and future king. But not once had he found him. Lancelot was right. It was time to move elsewhere. 

“Where should we start, then?” Merlin asked, gripping the strap of his messenger bag.

They began by taking a ferry from Brighton to Calais. They left only two days after meeting in the bar, and set out on a journey that would last them five years. They searched all of Europe, and it would be another three years before they heard so much as a whisper of the Pendragon name. 

Pendragon was heard for the first time in years around February of 1912 when they met a Belgian farmer on a train into Brussels. The newspaper the man was reading had an article in it about Uther Pendragon’s son’s recent engagement to a wealthy woman by the name of Mithian, another name he hadn’t heard since Camelot. It had taken all of Merlin’s restraint not to steal it from the man. Lancelot kindly asking the man to borrow it certainly helped, and within seconds, the paper was theirs.

Contained within the article was an image of the couple, who appeared to be the ordinary wealthy pair in the modern age, nothing royal about them at all, though Merlin supposed the rich were essentially modern day royalty. His fingers ghosted over the black and white image of Arthur and Mithian, two faces he hadn’t seen in so long, but they lingered over Arthur’s image. 

The former king of Camelot looked just as strong and handsome as he had the last time Merlin had seen him. Well, the last time he’d seen him before Mordred had mortally wounded him… He shook off the memory, and continued staring at the image, “That’s him,” he said, pointer finger pinned to the paper, “After all this time, he still looks like a clot pole.”

He and Lancelot shared a laugh, “Where’s he now?” the latter of the two asked. 

Merlin began flipping through the pages as swiftly as he could, looking through the article for any indication of where in the hell Arthur lived in 1912, finding only a mention of the family being based north of Southampton… The very place they’d begun their journey. “Why the hell didn’t we find him in England, then?” Merlin looked up from the article, and out the window of the train.

Lancelot on the other hand kept reading, “They don’t really stay there much, they’re traveling, it’s kept them out of the papers… This is the first time they’ve appeared in years. But that’s about it. They’re only newsworthy because of Mithian. It seems her father’s some sort of famous art collector.”

The train lurched, nearly sending Merlin careening into the seat in front of him, but Lancelot caught him at the last second, and his sudden fall was stopped, “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Lancelot replied, “Well, now we’ve got some idea where Arthur is… What do you want to do now?”

It was then that they made the decision to go to Southampton once again, and Merlin realized for the third time that Arthur was truly back. It took them an entire month to work up enough money to afford a steamer from Ostend to Dover, and another week before they returned to Southampton to continue their search. 

Still they found nothing. The last they’d heard of Arthur was that damned article announcing his engagement to Mithian, an article which Merlin would never admit aloud he carried around with them everywhere they went. They went everywhere around the city in their search for Arthur, but still, nothing was found.

Merlin was beginning to give up hope by the time he and Lancelot ended up at a pub in Southampton, playing poker to earn money for another trip out to find their king. It was the tenth of April, 1912, and they were ready to stop their search after nearly five years of nothing. They’d decided to give up searching Southampton, and were ready to resume their search in Europe, even Asia or Africa if they had to. 

The day that they finally found what they’d been searching for for years was seemingly ordinary, unless one glanced outside the pub’s windows to see the world’s largest ship sitting in the dock beside them. 

That day there was hardly a cloud in the sky, but a spring chill hung in the air as they watched people board the America bound ship. Merlin and Lancelot paid them little attention as they played their poker game with two Swedish men they’d met just five minutes earlier. Neither was aware that this one poker game would change both of their lives as the game got more and more intense. 

Merlin and Lancelot looked over at each other nervously as the Swedish men they were playing the game with conversed quietly, occasionally sparing glances at the tickets they’d bet in the most recent round of their heated game.

“Hit me again, Sven,” Merlin told one of the men, who handed him a card off the pile before them without saying a word to the sorcerer. Neither one seemed to notice when he whispered under his breath, and his eyes turned gold before the card was handed to him, the only acknowledgement that anything had even happened was from the former knight sitting beside him in the form of a wink. 

Lancelot refused a card, licking his lips nervously, nearly flinching as the whistle from the nearby Titanic blew again, warning that the ship would be leaving in mere minutes. The men sitting across from them were about to miss their trip to America, though he and Merlin knew that wasn’t just because of the time. 

“Well, here’s the moment of truth,” Merlin said, “Someone’s life’s about to change.”

With that said, Lancelot and the Swedish men put their cards down, holding them close as Merlin looked them over, briefly showing his cards to his friend before placing his own down on a table, “Well, Lancelot’s got nothing, Olaf’s got nothing, and Sven, you’ve got a two pair… But I’ve got a full house… Lancelot…”

“Are we…?”

“We’re going to America!”

The two men gave cheers of victory, Lancelot gathering the money and tickets as swiftly as he was capable of, and shoving them into the messenger bag Merlin had carried with him all across Europe. They ignored the sounds of the angered Sven and Olaf as they wrapped their arms around each other, a newfound hope in their eyes as they realized that maybe their search wasn’t over just yet. 

“How the hell are we going to find him in America?” Merlin asked as he and Lancelot pulled away from each other.

“We haven’t found him here, might as well look elsewhere.”

“I thought that elsewhere would be Africa.”

“Why the hell would Arthur be in Africa?”

“Good point,” Merlin replied, then his eyes landed on a clock just behind the pubkeeper, the time reading five minutes before noon… And as far as he knew Titanic departed  _ at _ noon… “We’d best get going, don’t want to miss our ticket out of here.”

Lancelot gave him a quick nod, “Let’s go,” he said, making sure Merlin was following him as he made haste toward the pub’s exit, thanking the pubkeeper as he went, before he dashed out toward the massive ship.

They ran faster than either had ever run before, and at some point they’d both had to outrun some terrifying creatures. Merlin recalled vividly the day that Kilgarrah had unleashed his wrath on Camelot once he’d been set free. Briefly, he wondered whether or not the dragon would also be returning to them, or if he was truly gone for good.

On their approach to the ship they dodged people and luggage as they made their way through the maze that was the terminal. Merlin nearly collided with a first class gentleman and his luggage, laughing off the near miss as he ran breathlessly behind Lancelot. 

Seconds later they finally reached the ramp leading up to the ship, just as it was starting to pull away, “Wait! Wait!” Merlin cried, brandishing the tickets he’d just won in front of the officer’s face, “We’re passengers!”

The officer stared at their tickets for a moment, “Have you been through the inspection queue?” 

Merlin and Lancelot both nodded, “Of course!” Merlin told him, “But we don’t have lice, we’re both English!”

The officer’s eyes darted between them for a moment as if he didn’t believe them, then he sighed, “Right, come aboard.” He then stepped aside, and gestured for them to board the massive ship.

Both men gave him a quick nod before they leapt aboard, and rushed down the hallway, not bothering to look back as they flew up the stairs to the back deck of the ship. From there they pushed through crowds of people to reach the railings overlooking the crowd that had gathered to watch the ship’s departure, the very same crowd they’d run through just minutes earlier.

The ramps had been pulled away and a loud whistling sound screamed out from behind them. Merlin and Lancelot beamed at the sights around them as Titanic was pulled slowly away from the dock. Together they waved at the crowd alongside their fellow passengers, watching gleefully as they moved further out of the channel, ready to embark on their adventure to America.

“This is it,” Merlin breathed, looking at Lancelot excitedly, “It has to be.”

“We’ll find him, Merlin,” his friend promised, patting his shoulder, “I know it.”

Merlin gave a delighted laugh, then he turned to look at the crowd, eyes falling over the thousands of faces behind them. Everyone around them was waving at the people below. None of them knew anyone else, everyone waved just to wave. It was more like they were waving goodbye to England than to the crowd on the terminal. 

Slowly, he turned back to wave to the crowd once more, when suddenly something-no, some _ one _ \- on another deck caught his eye. It was a sight he’d yearned to see for a thousand years. Just several yards away from where he and Lancelot stood, he could see a head of blonde hair paired with eyes blue enough he could tell from even a small distance and a suit reserved for only the richest of men. He wore different clothing from his time in Camelot, but it was unmistakably him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said breathlessly, unable to believe the sight before him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. 

After all this time, he’d found him. Arthur was standing before him looking out at the crowd, a bitter expression on his face as his hands rested by his sides, not bothering to wave. Beside him, he saw several other familiar faces. Mithian stood by his side, waving to the crowds with a kind smile on her face, sparing occasional glances in her fiance’s direction, though they looked more sympathetic than loving. 

On either side of the couple were two faces Merlin had desperately hoped he’d never see again, the faces of Morgana and Uther. The former of the two was almost a fitting example of the modern woman adorned in a velvety green coat and a hat with matching colors, but the evil smirk he’d seen her master long ago was the most present feature about her. The latter still emanated a sense of authority even without the crown on his head, beaming with pride as he too looked out over the countless heads of people. 

Merlin stepped back against the railing as he stared at them, nearly sending himself overboard in the process, but Lancelot was quick to step in, reaching in at the last second to pull on Merlin’s hand until he was upright again. 

“Are you alright?” Lancelot asked worriedly. 

Merlin could barely speak, merely pointing up at what he saw instead. Lancelot turned around just in time to see the Pendragon family retreat back inside the ship, “Was that…?”

“It was,” Merlin said, “It was all of them, they’re all back… We’re all here… It’s time.”

“What’s time?”

“Kilgarrah warned me about this just after Arthur died, he said he’d only come back when Albion’s greatest time of need was at hand,” Merlin explained, staring up at where he’d just seen Arthur, “If we’re all back… It’s time, Lancelot, the time of need is  _ now _ .”  
  



	2. Meeting Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True Facts: I have no update schedule, and honestly, this could update again anytime between tomorrow and three weeks from now. If I don't update for more than a month, that's when I've probably given up or I've put it on hold. That doesn't usually happen though, the guilt of not updating usually eats away at me before I can give up a fic. Anyway, sorry I take so long, here's a chapter for your troubles.

Ten minutes later, Arthur Pendragon was in his stateroom in the first class decks of the Titanic. Around him, the ship’s staff were helping to unpack his family’s belongings, and Morgana, Uther, and Mithian were helping to direct them as to where to put the numerous things they’d brought with them.

Distractedly, he walked out onto their private promenade deck as the ship sailed further out to sea, and away from the comforting coasts of England. It hadn't been his home in ages, all the travel across Europe with his family had endured that, but that didn't make leaving for America any less painful. Especially since it was all for his marriage to Mithian. 

Mithian was nice enough, he supposed. He enjoyed her company more than he despised it, but it didn’t make him any more inclined to wanting to marry her. Still, it could’ve been worse. He’d heard of both men and women of his class being partnered with absolute nightmares for the sake of money. The woman currently helping to unpack a series of paintings was certainly no nightmare. 

He sighed as he stared out at the ocean, picturing the life the Titanic was leading him toward. He’d be rich, with one of Europe’s most sought after women on his arm everywhere he went, his father had made sure of that. Eventually, once his father was gone, he’d become the commander of everything their family owned, from their massive fortune, to the many famed art galleries that had united Arthur and Mithian in the first place. It would all become his. 

It was daunting and if he were being quite honest, exhausting having all of that on his shoulders. He was only just approaching the age of twenty two, and already had his life planned out for him. Though he’d never admit it out loud, he was terrified. 

“Arthur?” Mithian’s voice called out softly.

He turned, offering his fiance a kind smile as his eyes fell on her elegantly dressed form, “What is it?” 

“Could you help us move the last of the paintings? It’s a Picasso, and it’s on the delicate side,” she explained, pointing behind her where the staff were still bringing in their luggage. 

Arthur gave her a nod, then the two walked back inside, and with the aid of a stewardess, moved the Picasso into Mithian’s bedroom. They set it down against the nearest wall, then the three sighed as they looked about the room. 

“It smells so brand new,” the stewardess commented, inhaling deeply as she looked about the room, “Sort of like they built it all for us. Just think, when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I’ll be the first.”

Mithian’s polite smile beamed at the stewardess, “Most certainly,” she replied, then she looked at Arthur, and with a wink, she added, “And when  _ I _ crawl between the sheets tonight, I’ll still be the first.”

The stewardess, whose name Arthur faintly recalled to be Guinevere from when she'd shown them to their room, blushed, the color faint, but there against her dark skin, then she politely curtsied, and dismissed herself. 

Arthur’s cheeks were much the same color as he looked awkwardly at the ground, and Mithian laughed awkwardly, “Sorry,” she said quietly, “I’m just… I know it wasn’t your choice, being engaged to me. I figured the odd joke or two ought to make it more bearable.”

He shook his head, “Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “I appreciate your efforts.”

With that, he walked out of the room, and back out onto the promenade deck to stare out onto the ocean. They had five hours before they docked at Cherbourg, but for now, the open ocean provided a welcome distraction. Mercifully he had more than five hours before they docked in New York, but each mile the Titanic trekked brought him closer to his fate, closer to the complete and total loss of his freedom. Once they were in New York, once he was married, he could never escape the life he lived. There would be no way out.

Meanwhile in the third class decks, Merlin and Lancelot walked down a narrow, yet crowded hallway toward their room. The two paid close attention to the signs as they walked, eager to get their things unpacked and settled in before they set out to find Arthur on the massive ship. 

After a while, they found the room, complete with the two other men they were sharing it with. The pair quickly introduced themselves, then Lancelot threw his bag over the top bunk. 

Merlin scoffed, “Since when do you get top bunk?”

“Since you were too slow to claim it, old man,” Lancelot teased, eliciting a laugh from the sorcerer as he flung his own bag onto the bottom bunk, oblivious to the quiet muttering from their new roommates. 

With a sigh, Merlin flopped down onto the bed with his bag, and stared up at the underside of Lancelot’s bunk, “We’re so close,” he muttered, “Yet still so far away. He’s in first class. How the hell are we going to get anywhere near him? He’s impossibly out of reach. They’ve got all the decks separated by class as usual. We can’t just talk to him whenever we please. Much less tell him who he is.”

Lancelot hummed his disagreement, “Well, you won’t get anywhere near him thinking like that. I’ve seen you overcome much more difficult obstacles than class. You’ll find a way, knowing you.”

The corners of Merlin’s lips twitched slightly, “Thanks,” he replied, “But whatever happens, I think I need an hour’s rest or two. Hopefully I’ll wake before we dock at Cherbourg. I need to know where Arthur’s getting off this ship.”

“Sounds fair. I’d say goodnight, but it’s two hours past noon.”

“Good day, then I suppose.”

“Good day.”

With that, Merlin shifted on the pillow the Titanic’s staff had set up for him, and closed his eyes, ready to find Arthur the moment he awakened. 

Several hours later, Merlin awoke to Lancelot shaking his arm gently, “We’re getting close to the docks at Cherbourg,” he told him, “They’ve got the tugboats out and everything.”

He was on his feet instantly, “Let’s get above deck.”

Lancelot simply gave him a nod before the two rushed to the upper decks of the ship. Not as many people had come out on deck this time, since most passengers were eating dinner, but still several faces showed as the ship was brought into the dock. 

At Cherbourg, no familiar faces boarded the ship, and Merlin and Lancelot walked back down to their third class room with disappointment drooping their shoulders. They headed down into the dining saloon for their supper, Merlin taking a beer instead of a tea with his meal that evening. 

Lancelot had to drag a slightly intoxicated Merlin back to their room, making sure he was tucked away safely in bed, and setting his friend’s bag down on the floor before he even considered going to sleep himself. 

As he set down Merlin’s bag though, something fell out of it. In the dim light, he could make out the outline of some sort of book. Upon picking up the open book, he realized what it was. It was the journal Merlin had been drawing in throughout their travels in Europe. It had started out as a hobby, but the lifelike drawings of everyday people had become a pastime for the sorcerer as they spent far too much time on trains and boats. Occasionally, he’d even take commissions for drawings, but for the most part, it remained a hobby, according to his friend. 

Merlin had mentioned to him shortly after they’d reunited that he’d learnt to draw over the years, but Lancelot had never imagined just how good he’d gotten. The realization hit him particularly in moments like these, where the journal lay right in front of him, a page open to a drawing of an unforgettable face, Arthur’s. It seemed that after all these years, Merlin could still remember their old friend’s face perfectly. 

With a sigh, Lancelot closed the journal, and placed it back inside Merlin’s bag before he climbed up onto his bunk, and he too fell asleep for the night.

The next day the ship docked at Queenstown, Ireland, and once again, Merlin and Lancelot were at the decks waiting to see if they could spot any familiar faces. This time was much more eventful than last time. This time they could see clearly as a few familiar looking third class gentlemen boarded, every face causing Merlin’s smile to broaden except for one. They watched as Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and to Merlin’s horror, Mordred boarded the ship. 

The glee he felt from watching his friends board was overwhelmed instantly by the sight of his old enemy. Instantly every memory he had with Mordred came flooding back to him, all starting from the moment he’d heard his voice in his head in the castle courtyard and decided to rescue him, to the moment he’d found his body dead beside Arthur’s weakened form. If he could turn back time… That was unfortunately not one of his many gifts as a sorcerer. All he could do was live on with what had happened. 

Mordred looked up vaguely in Merlin’s direction, sending his heart beating twice as fast in his chest, but upon further inspection, Mordred was not in fact staring at Merlin, but at someone above and behind him. Looking up at a higher deck, the sorcerer spotted another familiar face that made his blood run cold, Morgana. 

The former high priestess was staring down at the incoming passengers with a curiosity that reminded him of who she once was before she’d succumbed to darkness. The smile on her face as she and Mordred made eye contact was soft, and kind. She’d always been kind to him, even when she was at her worst, but this was something different. It was like she didn’t remember what had happened at Camelot, or she was a phenomenal actress. 

Merlin’s eyes flicked from Morgana back to Mordred, who looked up at Morgana as if he recognized her for a moment, but then resumed his walk with the other knights, the four of them laughing and carrying on as if they’d been friends for years. Perhaps in this new reality, they had. 

“Let’s get below deck,” Lancelot said, snapping Merlin out of his thoughts as he tugged on his arm gently. 

With a nod, Merlin followed behind him, heading back to their third class room excitedly, both wondering what their friends remembered, and both hoping that Mordred remembered none of it. “I’d say Mordred remembers nothing, or he wouldn’t be hanging around with that lot,” Merlin said. 

Lancelot stared at him in confusion, “That other fellow with them was Mordred?”

“Yeah, that was him, he’s the one who killed Arthur.”

“Ah, did the others know?”

“They knew.”

“Then I’d say they don’t remember either, or they wouldn’t want him around either.”

A smile rose on Merlin’s lips as they approached their floor, “They could be anywhere, though, how the hell are we going to find them?”

Lancelot shrugged, “I’d try looking directly in front of you,” he suggested, pointing ahead of them, where Merlin turned his head to see the group of four walking into a room two doors down from theirs. Destiny had funny ways of showing itself with him, and this was quickly becoming one of his favorites. 

It turned out that none of their friends could remember Camelot, at least, that was what Merlin picked up from talking to them in the third class dining saloon. But at the very least, their personalities had never changed, and like they’d been in the past, they’d become fast friends in the present. 

According to Percival, they’d all met while attending school, and once that was over, unable to afford university, they’d all worked jobs at a factory until they could afford to look for opportunities in America. From there, it was a matter of finding the right ship. It had been Gwaine who had pointed them toward Titanic, wanting to sail on something big and luxurious, something that would make headlines for their journey to the new world. Days later, they’d all bought their passes, and the rest was history. 

Lancelot and Merlin spent the meal, and then the evening with their old new friends, enjoying the most of what third class night life had to offer before the night ended, and the day that would change everything began.

The so called poop deck of the Titanic was rather animated that afternoon as Merlin watched from a starboard side bench. Third class passengers milled about, some enjoying the ocean views off the stern, others simply milling about, and some watching children play. Occasionally, the odd first class passenger would walk by with their dog, the dog would do its business-further cementing the name of the poop deck- on the deck space, then they’d leave. 

Once upon a time, nothing would’ve made Merlin angrier than the sight of the rich putting the poor in their place, but after more than a thousand years of life, he’d simply grown used to it. 

With a sigh, he took out his drawing book from his coat pocket, and began sketching the various passengers he saw on the deck as he waited for Lancelot and the others to join them.

He started with the man nearest to him, a forty something man with hints of grey throughout his slightly unkempt, but short hair, and tears throughout the thick fabric of his deep brown coat. A hopeful expression shone through the lines on his face, illuminating an olive toned complexion as he stared out at the ocean, casually toying with a worn, gold band on his finger. 

As Merlin’s fingers craftily drew the charcoal over the paper, he became lost in thought, his thoughts again were filled with Arthur and the knights. With all of them back, even if most lacked their memories, whatever great challenge faced them was right around the corner, possibly even days away. With their luck, whatever happened would occur before Titanic docked in New York. He tried not to think the word “if,” in relation to that sentence. 

With a slight shudder at the thought, Merlin’s charcoal slipped, creating a line right over the nose of the drawing. Cursing under his breath, the sorcerer made sure no one was looking before he quietly muttered a spell that would erase the unwanted mark. 

“Careful, Merlin, you’ve got a bit of a crowd,” Lancelot’s voice announced from nearby. 

Looking up, Merlin grinned when he saw Lancelot approaching him, the grin fading slightly when he realized his friend was alone, “Where’re the others?”

“Trying to pull Gwaine away from the beer,” Lancelot said plainly as he sat down beside his friend, “Well, Percival is. No word on Mordred or Leon yet.”

Merlin let out a lighthearted laugh, “Nothing changes, then.”

“Nothing changes.”

The two exchanged another round of laughter as they watched the scene around them. On the starboard side of the ship, the side opposite them, two children were playing catch with a ball of sorts while the parents watched anxiously hoping the toy didn’t fly overboard into the ocean. Nearest to them a man was taking pictures of the stern with his camera, staying very still as the image was taken. On a deck just above theirs, first class passengers gossiped as they watched the poor folk mingle below, a sight that still had Merlin shaking his head a little. 

“What have you been drawing anyway, old friend?” Lancelot asked, leaning over to look at the rather life like drawing of the man Merlin had seen on the deck just moments earlier. 

He turned to point vaguely at the man, but when he stared at the spot he’d last seen him, the man was gone. “There was a man there,” he explained, “He was just standing still, staring out at the Atlantic. Perfect subject for drawing.”

Lancelot hummed a response, “It’s still odd to think of you as an artist. The Merlin I knew-”

“The Merlin you knew was just a servant with magic.”

“You make it sound as though your talents are worthless.”

“They couldn’t save any of you from what happened, I couldn’t save you, Arthur, Gwaine… And the others I had to watch wither and die. Perhaps they are worthless.”

Lancelot sighed, “You don’t have to walk around with the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore, Merlin. It’s a different world. You’re no servant, and Arthur knew about your magic by the end, so you said. Once he remembers, it’ll be different this time around.”

Merlin said nothing, merely giving his friend a subtle nod as a response as he turned the page in his book, and looked for a new subject to sketch. 

Before he could find another, though, a first class gentleman walked past with his dog again, the animal clearly sniffing for somewhere to do its business. He opened his mouth to comment, but another familiar voice said his thoughts for him, “Typical, first class dogs come down here to take a shit,” announced Gwaine, and upon looking up, Merlin beamed when he saw Percival and Gwaine approaching. 

“They just do it so we know where we rank,” Merlin replied, “It’s been happening to me for so long, I hardly notice it anymore.”

“Like we could forget,” Percival muttered bitterly as he and Gwaine stood beside them. . 

Merlin chuckled, but before he could reply, his gaze caught something on the upper first class deck. A door opened, and from the inside, he saw Arthur walk out in a fancy suit looking rather upset, his shoulders slumped as he stalked up to the rail, and put his hands on it, staring intensely out at the sea. The sorcerer’s heart rate climbed to what could be described as an unhealthy level as he looked up at his old friend, still unable to believe that he was  _ there _ , and not a thousand years in his past. 

He watched as Arthur reached up for the bow tie he wore, untying it in one, swift motion before he tossed it out into the wind angrily. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as the black fabric blew over the stern railing into the ocean, never to be seen again. Merlin frowned as he pondered just what his old friend was doing. From the look on Arthur’s face, he’d been upset by something, but what was it?

Arthur looked like he was depressed and isolated. Like he was all alone in the world. What the hell had made him like that? He’d never been that way before, not in the time that Merlin had known him

It wasn’t something Merlin dwelled on for a particularly long time, though. Just seconds into staring out at the ocean, Arthur turned his head, and looked dead on at Merlin. For the first time in a millennium, they locked eyes.

Despite being caught, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look away, and continued staring into the eyes of his old friend, wondering if he knew who he was. There was no hint of recognition in Arthur’s eyes, but he didn’t look as though he felt uncomfortable in Merlin’s gaze. In fact, he actually smiled as he looked away from Merlin, and back out at the ocean, only for his eyes to flicker back to him again with traces of the smile still hidden in his features. 

Merlin was tempted to get up and walk toward the king, but he didn’t move when he saw Mithian walk out from the same deck space, and lay a hand on his arm, capturing his attention. She said something inaudible to him, then Arthur said something in protest before he followed her back down the A deck, back to their world. 

The sorcerer was still in a daze staring down where Arthur had been, when Lancelot waved a hand over his eyes, and Gwaine laughed, “Forget it, Merlin,” he told him, “You’d have to have angels flying out of your arse to get next to the likes of him.”

The sorcerer laughed, “Who says I don’t?” he asked, trying to hide the sorrow from his expression as he looked up at his friend, “I’m sure I could make it happen somehow.” 

Another round of laughter erupted from his friends, but Merlin just couldn’t quite bring himself to laugh, something about it felt wrong. All he could think about was how close Arthur was, and yet at the same time,  impossibly far away.

Later that night Arthur was in the smoking room surrounded by a group of fellow first class gentlemen. A glass of brandy sat half empty in his hand as he stared blankly at it, not listening to the mindless chatter of those around him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care for it. A chorus of laughter erupted nearby, capturing his attention briefly, but it was just the men laughing at some story his father was telling from his youth, each one coughing out the smoke from their cigars as they chortled at the rather unfunny story. 

The whole thing gave him a ridiculous sense of deja vu. It felt like he’d been there before a thousand times, and in truth, he had. He’d been in that sort of company night after night some weeks, and each time, nothing changed, nothing was any different from the last time. They always talked about the same boring politics, the same draining opinions. They always smoked the same cigars, and drank the same brandies, the same brandy that was now fogging Arthur’s head. 

He took another sip of his drink as he realized it never would change, it would always be like this, especially once he was married to Mithian, and as nice as she was, he wanted anything but this boring life with her. He wanted to leave that room right then, and never look back. No, he  _ needed _ to leave. If he didn’t escape the room as quickly as he could, he’d lose his mind. His eyes drifted back to the half full glass in his hand, then a thought formed in his mind as he lifted it to his lips, and downed it all in one go. 

The cringe that ensued would’ve been visible if anyone had bothered to look at him and see his misery, but none of the men in his company saw it. It was completely unobserved, which enabled him to set the glass down, and excuse himself from his company with a smile and the nod of his head as he left the smoking room, tightening his suit jacket around him as he walked out onto the A deck. 

Kind smiles were given to passersby, but as soon as he was out of sight of anyone, and on the staircase down to where his stateroom was located, they disappeared, leaving only a blank stare as he searched for the door that was his. He barely remembered entering the room, and remembered even less of the walk toward his bedroom, his thoughts were too muddled for him to notice any of it.

He didn’t stop until he reached the large mirror on the far side of his room, catching the edges of it with his hands as he stopped himself, and simply stared at his reflection for a moment. Anger boiled inside of him, an unquenchable, undefeatable anger at the thought of being trapped in the life he hated so terribly, the life he wanted nothing more than to get out of… That he had to get out of. 

But how did he get out of it? How did he leave it all behind and never look back? For a moment, nothing came to mind. It all seemed as if he had no choice but to stay and play the role his father had chosen for him, he had to suck it up and stay, and let his years be filled with nothing. After a moment, however, it hit him that if he didn’t have any years left to fill, he wouldn’t be stuck in that life. If he were gone, he wouldn’t have to live out the same day over and over again. It would all be over, and no one would be able to stop him, they all were up smoking cigars like his father, or having tea like Morgana and Mithian. 

With his mind set, he ran from the room, back down the hallway, and up onto the deck leading to the stern. He blinked back tears as he ran, pushing past people without a hint of the polite smiles he’d held for them minutes earlier, he was too far gone for that. All he could think about was ending his life before it could become more miserable, it was like he had tunnel vision as he ran, wishing he could go on forever, but even a ship as big as Titanic had an end, and he was upon it much too soon. 

He slammed into the stern’s railing with a bit more force than he would’ve liked, eliciting a pained grunt from his lips. He figured he wouldn’t have to worry about it bruising, given what he was about to do. 

For a moment, he stared out at the black water, taking in the abyss he was about to fall into, then he reached out, and began to climb up over the railing. He looked back at the ship as he climbed over, then he turned himself around so he was facing the sea, breathing hard as he went. Nervously, he leaned out over the ocean, looking down at the water he could scarcely see in the dim light provided by Titanic, wondering just how swiftly he would drown. 

This was it, this was his final moment. This was the end of his miserable existence. At least, it was for a moment, then he heard a voice that he was certain he’d heard millions of times before, but couldn’t quite place, “Don’t!” the voice cried desperately.

Arthur turned his head to see the man who had interrupted his suicide attempt, finding himself staring at a handsome, but evidently dirt poor third class passenger in a worn, tan jacket and a similarly worn red scarf, the color rather faded from time. The stranger’s familiar looking blue eyes were wide in fright, his arm outstretched in front of him as he stared intently at Arthur. Why was the man familiar? What was it about that voice, those eyes that gave him the strangest feeling they’d met before?

He shook off those feelings. He couldn’t worry about the new stranger, he’d come back here for one purpose, and one purpose only, to jump. “Stay back,” he warned the man, “Leave me alone, pretend you didn’t see me.”

The stranger only walked closer, ignoring his warnings as he held out his hand for him, “Please, just take my hand, I’ll pull you back in.”

Arthur shook his head solemnly, looking back out at the ocean, “No, I… I’ve got to jump… I can’t…”

“But you won’t,” the stranger said, “I know you. I mean, I know you _ won’t _ .”

A laugh escaped Arthur’s lips, “And how do you know that? What makes you so wise?” he asked as he looked back. 

“You would’ve done it already,” the stranger assured him, “Now come on, take my hand.”

Arthur looked back at the hand still reaching out for him, now only a couple of feet away. The hand inviting, like it would never lead him in the wrong direction, but if he took it… He’d be forced to live the life he desperately didn’t want, the life that had driven him so far as to run all the way back to Titanic’s stern to throw himself off of the ship. One thing became quite clear to him; he couldn’t take that hand.

“No. Get out of here, you’re distracting me.”

“I can’t,” the stranger protested, walking until he was against the rail as well, and leaning against it, “I’m involved. If you let go, I’ll have to jump in after you.”

“But you’d be killed,” Arthur said as the stranger began to remove his jacket, revealing a blue button up shirt underneath, “The fall alone will kill us.”

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t,” the stranger agreed as he began to remove his shoes, “But then there’s the temperature of the water. It’s cold down there, I’m warning you. I’ve heard it’s like a thousand knives stabbing you all at once. You can’t breathe, you can’t think… Not about anything but the pain, that is. So that’s why I’m begging you, come back over the rail, save us both.”

“You’re insane,” Arthur replied with an empty laugh.

“So I’ve heard, but with all due respect, sir, I’m not the one hanging off the back of a ship,” the stranger reminded him, then he held out his hand, “Whatever it is that’s got you back here, there’s another way. Trust me, I’ve got quite a lot of experience.”

As Arthur looked into those eyes, the ones he swore he’d seen before, something in them made him trust the stranger completely. Everything he was saying suddenly made his life clear. He didn’t have to die here. He could run whenever he wanted to. There were infinite places to go once the ship docked, not just New York. With a nod, he slowly turned himself around so he was facing the ship, “Alright.”

He’d never seen someone look more relieved than the man in front of him, smiles grew on both of their faces as he took the strangers hand, “I’ve just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Merlin, I’m Merlin,” the stranger said, the name only increasing the sense of familiarity.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

The stranger gave him a nod as if he already knew what Arthur was going to say as he took a step up on the railing. Unfortunately, the material of his shoes didn’t have as much traction as he’d initially thought, and with a cry of, “Shit!” he slipped, and if it weren’t for the firm grip Merlin had on his hand, he would’ve fallen into the ocean then and there. 

He felt Merlin’s other hand grip his arm as he slipped toward the ocean, stopping his fall in its tracks, “Help!” he shouted. 

“I’ve got you!” Merlin assured him, “I won’t let you go! Not again!”

Distracted by what seemed to be his impending doom, Arthur couldn’t quite ponder what that meant. As he cried out again for help, he missed it when Merlin whispered something under his breath, catching only what must have been reflected gold light in his eyes as the other man suddenly pulled him up and over the railing, collapsing on top of him as they fell onto the deck breathing hard. 

Arthur stared up at Merlin in astonishment, while Merlin stared down at him in disbelief, neither of them saying anything as the sound of people shouting approached them. Merlin scrambled off of Arthur as quickly as he could, but it was no use. By the time Merlin was off of him, a few of Titanic’s officers had arrived on the scene, the one in front of the charge staring between them with his eyes widening as he took it in. 

He could see the officer observing his disheveled appearance, and Merlin’s missing clothing, and putting two and two together. Little did he know he was equalling two and two to five as he ordered Merlin to “Stand back! Don’t move an inch!”

The man who had just saved his life stepped back with his hands up as the officer turned to the other men who’d come on deck with him, “Fetch the master at arms!” he ordered them, commencing what would become a very long night for both Merlin and Arthur. 


	3. Distant Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sHIT YALL I AM SO SORRY. I was dealing with some shit TM but I’m back now, I swear. This is the shortest chapter so far, but I’ve got all these chapters planned out and it just wouldn’t have worked out any other way. I’ll try not to take another six month hiatus again. Sorry!!!!

 

The officer had Merlin in handcuffs before Arthur could even speak to his defense, not that he would've been able to anyway. He was still too shaken from his near death experience just a minute prior. His heart was still racing faster than it ever had before, the pounding in his ears drowning out the other officer’s questions about what had happened.

He could only stare at Merlin as the handcuffed man was berated by one of the officers for his wrongly perceived actions. If it weren't for him, Arthur would be sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic by now, never to be seen or heard from again. Without this stranger, he would be dead.

The realization of it all kept him in a state of shock for a while, all he could do was ponder why the hell this man had saved him and what the hell had just happened. Why hadn't he let him fall off the ship into the ocean? What was it about his voice, his eyes that felt so familiar to him?

He was knocked from his thoughts by the sound of his father’s voice, and loud footsteps approaching from somewhere further down the front of the ship, “What the hell happened?” Uther’s voice boomed angrily, stirring Arthur slowly from his stupor.

When he finally looked away from Merlin, he saw his father, Morgana, and Mithian quickly approaching him, followed by several more of Titanic’s officers. He swallowed nervously as he looked back at Merlin, who visibly tensed upon seeing his family. He couldn't blame the strange man, he wasn't a particularly big fan of them either. They were the people who had driven him to the stern of the ship, after all.

Before he could open his mouth to answer his father’s question, one of the officers answered it for him with the story he knew to not be true, “We found this filth on top of him, sir,” the officer holding Merlin announced, “It would appear he was trying to—”

Uther waved him off before he could finish his sentence as he finally reached them, sparing his son a quick glance before he came after Merlin, gripping the lapels of his jacket firmly, and nearly lifting him off the ground as he yelled at him, “How dare you put your hands on my son?!”

Something about the way his father yelled at Merlin snapped Arthur out of his minutes long stupor, and he reached out an arm to stop him, “Father, please-” he started, but Uther didn't hear him, and instead continued to berate the man who'd saved his life, “FATHER! It was an accident!”

Hearing this, Uther released his death grip on Merlin, and turned to face his son, “What do you mean?”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who stared at him in confusion as he began to speak, “I was looking out over the deck, I…” he paused for a moment, knowing he would dare not speak the truth of why he'd been there in front of his father, but unsure of what the hell he'd tell him in place of the truth. After a moment’s hesitation, it came to him, “I was looking out over the deck, I wanted to see the propellers, but it would seem I leaned too far as I started to slip. I would've gone overboard, but Merlin saved me.”

The officer restraining Merlin looked him in the eye, “Was that the way of it?”

Merlin looked at Arthur with a hint of both relief and sorrow in his eyes, a conflict of emotions playing out on his features as he debated his answer, the once and future king’s pleading eyes making the debate rather short as he replied with, “Yeah, that was it.”

Mithian sighed in relief, “Ah, the man’s a hero then,” she breathed, turning her gaze on Merlin as he was uncuffed, “Thank you.”

Saying nothing, Merlin simply nodded in acknowledgement as he was uncuffed by one of the officers.

“Let’s get him inside,” Uther suggested,, “He’s freezing.” He reached out an arm for his son, but was stopped by Mithian.

“Wait, we should give him something, he just saved Arthur’s life.”

Uther grunted lightly as he reached into his pockets, and pulled out some cash, handing it out to Merlin, “A twenty should do it,” he grumbled.

“Is that the going rate for saving your son?” Arthur asked before Merlin could accept the twenty.

“My son is displeased… hmm, what to do?” Uther muttered, looking the sorcerer up and down before seeming to settle on something satisfactory, “I know. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow night? Regale our group with your heroic tale.”

Seeming surprised by the invitation, Merlin glanced at Arthur, who gave him a brief nod before he answered, “Sure, I’m in.”

“Good, settled, then,” Uther replied, then he began to walk away, Mithian and Arthur following close behind him. The latter of the two looked back at Merlin one more time with curious eyes before they disappeared further down the deck.

That left Merlin and Morgana standing alone on the stern of the Titanic, staring each other down, though Morgana’s stare was more curious and inquisitive than evil and menacing as he’d last seen her. As she stared him up and down, he wondered if she remembered him, if even the smallest part of her had any idea who he was, that they’d met before. That they’d once been friends, then enemies. But everything in her eyes told him she hadn’t the slightest idea. She couldn’t remember.

After a moment, the awkward tension that had built up became too much for him to bear, and he spoke up, speaking to her for the first time since he’d run a sword through her more than a thousand years ago, “Is something wrong?”

She shuddered when he spoke, and shook her head, “No, but you’ll want to tie your shoes,” she told him, pointing down to where his shoes remained untied from his wouldbe attempt to save Arthur’s life, “It’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“He slipped so suddenly, and yet you still had time to remove your coat, and your shoes,” she replied, then with one last uncertain stare, she turned and headed off in the same direction that Mithian, Arthur, and her father had.

As soon as she was gone, Merlin felt a weight lift off of his chest, and his breathing became heavy. He leaned against the nearest wall, and simply stood there for a moment staring at the stars, remembering everything that had led him up to that fateful confrontation on the back deck.

More than a thousand years had passed since he’d last seen any of them. It’d been enough time for the sense of loss he’d felt to become dull over the years—no, not dull, numb. It had become something he was numb to. Every day he thought about them, about Arthur, Gwen, Lancelot… He thought about them all, about how much it’d hurt to lose them one by one to either battle or old age. By the time sixty years had passed, they’d all gone, and all he was left with were memories.

Right now, it felt like he was seeing ghosts. He’d been living with Lancelot for five years, and he’d just pulled Arthur up from the brink of death once again, but it still felt like they were ghosts and he was being haunted.

But they were all real. They’d really come back, good and bad, and like before, his fate was entwined with that of the once and future king. All he had to do this time was figure out what the hell they were up against this time, and he couldn’t do that by staying against that wall. With an agitated groan, Merlin pushed himself off of the wall, and headed back down into the third class decks.

His thoughts were still muddled with every single second of the moment he’d saved Arthur’s life above deck, every question he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask flying by him. The only one that really stuck out to him in the sea of thoughts was what the hell had compelled Arthur to want to throw himself from the ship? What was so bad that he didn’t see a way out?

Before he could begin to think up answers, he heard his name shouted at him loudly from the opposite end of the corridor, followed by the loud thud of footsteps rushing toward him. He looked up to see Gwaine barreling down the hall in his direction, a look of pure delight on his face as he all but slammed into Merlin, wrapping his arms around the surprised sorcerer as he laughed jubilantly.

“Gwaine, what the hell are you—?”

“I remember!” the former knight cried as he let go of Merlin.

“What?”

“I remember!”

Merlin stared at him in shock and confusion, but quickly snapped out of it at the sound of Lancelot’s voice, “All it took was the right amount of beer,” he explained, appearing behind Gwaine a few seconds later, “We’re all more susceptible when not sober.”

“We wanted to tell you sooner, but you were nowhere,” Gwaine added, “Where the hell were you, old man?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got all night,” Gwaine reminded him, then they turned to hear back down the hallway toward their room.

Before they could even take a step, however, Lancelot collided with one of many of the Titanic’s stewardesses, causing her to drop the pile of sheets she was carrying, and him to swear loudly.

“Sorry, sir, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the dark haired woman replied as she bent to pick up the sheets.

Lancelot was quick to help her, “No, no, the fault is mine, I should’ve looked before I… turned,” he replied, looking up at the stewardess as he spoke, then pausing in his sentence as realization dawned upon his features.

“What?” The stewardess asked, and it was then, as she smiled, that recognition swept over Merlin as well.

“Guinevere!” Lancelot gasped in surprise as he looked up at the woman he'd just collided with, “I mean… Are you alright?”

The stewardess, who they now new to be Guinevere looked up at him in shock, “I'm fine. How do you know my name?”

“I'm…”

“We overheard you with a passenger earlier,” Merlin interrupted, shooting a glance in his friend’s direction to make sure he was running with the story.

Guinevere’s brows furrowed together in a way he hadn’t seen in more than a thousand years, “Really? That’s odd, I've been stuck up in first class all day.”

“I've got very good hearing,” Merlin assured her, giving her a kind smile.

Guinevere looked between the three men as she finished gathering her sheets from the floor, making it clear that she found them odd, and didn’t remember them in the slightest. “Right… well, I have to get these washed. Uther Pendragon’s a very demanding man.”

With that, she was off, and Merlin, Lancelot, and Gwaine were left gaping as she walked away.

“We’re all really back, aren’t we?” Gwaine asked nervously.

“Yeah,” Lancelot replied.

“And that’s not as good as I think it is, is it?”

“No,” Merlin answered, then he turned back toward their room, “Moving on, I believe you two were going to tell me how you got him to remember?”

Gwaine and Lancelot both laughed as the three at long last headed down the hall to their third class room, the encounter with Guinevere pushed aside, but not forgotten as the door closed behind them.

In the decks above the newly reunited trio, Arthur was lying in his bed, still fully dressed as he took in the nights events. If it weren’t for a familiar faced stranger, he would be sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic instead of resting in his bed by now.

He was completely lost in thought, overwhelmed by the sense of dejavou the rescue had given him. He was so far gone he barely noticed when Mithian appeared in his doorway, her voice causing him to jump when she spoke, “Arthur? Are you alright?”

Catching his breath, Arthur sat up slowly, and stood up off the bed, adjusting the collar of his shirt, “I’m fine,” he replied tritely.

Mithian approached him cautiously, “If you’re feeling up to it, I wanted to show you something,” she told him, reaching out her hand as though he were a frightened animal ready to flee at any moment, but to her surprise, he took it, and allowed her to lead him out of the room. He followed her into their suite’s sitting room, where a large box had been placed on the chaise lounge inside, “I had intended to save this until next week at our engagement gala, but it felt better to give it to you now, given all that’s happened.”

Arthur hesitated as he let go of her hand, and reached out for the box, opening it slowly, then all at once as he stared at the massive sword contained within. The sight of it made him gasp slightly, the familiarity of the gold hilted weapon overwhelming him. He got the same feeling looking at the sword as he got looking at Merlin. It felt as if he’d seen it before, and maybe he had.

The image came to him like an old memory or a dream. For a moment he thought he must’ve been dreaming as he lost sight of his stateroom on the Titanic, and was instantly taken back to a scene that was all too familiar, yet completely foreign. The sword was entrapped in stone, buried deep inside, and he stood before it, attempting to pull it out, yet failing every time.

“You have to believe, Arthur,” Merlin’s voice echoed, sounding ghostly in whatever forrest they were in.

He turned to see the man who’d just saved his life standing a short distance away from him, looking not much younger than he did now, staring at him with the same hope in his eyes he’d seen an hour ago.

Saying nothing, Arthur turned back to the sword in the stone, and attempted to pull it out again, and with that, the memory ended, and he was brought back into the stateroom with MIthian. When he looked down, he saw the sword was in his hands, and he studied it carefully. It was indeed the exact same sword from whatever odd sort of dream he’d just experienced.

“It has a name, too,” Mithian was telling him, looking over his shoulder at the intimidating weapon, “It’s called—”

“Excalibur,” Arthur finished, unsure where it came from.

His fiancé seemed surprised as she continued speaking, “Yes, actually, named after the sword from Arthurian legend. I thought it fitting.”

Arthur swallowed, nodding slowly as he set the sword back down in its box, “It’s beautiful.”

Mithian’s lips parted into a smile as he turned to face him, “There's nothing I wouldn't give to you, Arthur, if you would not deny me,” she told him, “Open your heart to me. I know our situation isn't what you wanted, but it's what we must live with, and it'll be miserable for us both if you don't.”

Arthur nodded slowly, then he watched as she left the stateroom for her own bed, the door closing gently behind her. With a sigh, he walked over to his own bedroom, and immediately flopped himself onto his bed.

A long groan left his lips as he thought through the night’s events. From getting brandy with his father, to his decision to throw himself from the ship’s stern, to the familiarity of his rescuer, to the moment Mithian had gifted him that sword… He thought long and hard on what he could only describe as the visions he saw upon taking it in his hand, only he was certain that whatever he’d seen hadn’t come from the future, but from the past.

But it was impossible. Before that night, he’d never met Merlin, of that much he was certain. Their paths had never crossed until Merlin’s hand was outstretched for his and they were learning each other’s names over a railing. Or had they?

Arthur’s Head swarmed with confusion. It was impossible, and yet it was the truth. He’d met Merlin somewhere before, but he had no idea where. All he knew was that it was somehow connected to that sword sitting in his and Mithian’s stateroom.

A thought entered his mind, and he pushed himself back off the bed to follow it. He checked the stateroom to make sure it was clear, then he all but tip toed to the chaise lounge where the sword still rested, and opened the box.

He could’ve sworn the damn thing glowed as he opened it. It’s golden hilt shone in the dim light as he reached for it, and lifted the sword out of its box with little effort, hoping he’d experience the same visions he’d seen a moment earlier. He held the sword above his head, the tip nearly touching the ceiling.

But nothing happened. Arthur brought the sword back down to face height, and thrusted it forward a little, but still nothing happened.

He stared at it in confusion, wondering just what had happened to him five minutes earlier. The vision of him and Merlin standing around the rock had been clear as day, yet now there was nothing but silence. Whatever it was must’ve been nothing but a hallucination.

Arthur lowered the sword, then put it back in the box, shaking his head as he closed it. He was a fool for thinking it was anything but the hallucination of a mind that had been through too much in one evening. After all, he’d attempted to end his life earlier that very same night. Of course he was under stress. Of course he was seeing things.

Once he closed the box, he returned to his room, and drew back the covers, sliding between his sheets with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment filling him until sleep took him in its clutches. For the first time that night, he dreamed of Camelot. But more importantly, he dreamed of the man who had saved his life, he dreamed of Merlin.

 


	4. Poor Rich Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the next one up sooner, but at least you didn't have to wait six months again.

The next day Arthur woke feeling a flurry of emotions stirring in his gut. He was feeling somewhere between nervous, excited, and somewhat embarrassed. His actions the previous evening had been of the sort extreme men like him were expected to avoid. He’d known he was supposed to have a stiff upper lip and never waiver in his course, but…

It had truly felt as if his life were stuck on an endless loop until the moment he was being pulled over that railing by the mysteriously familiar stranger that was Merlin. It was as if suddenly things were moving after standing still for so long, and a part of him was eager to see Merlin again that night at dinner. Yet another part dreaded the encounter, dreaded confronting the one person who had seen him at his weakest point. Merlin had witnessed  him nearly throw himself off of the boat, and yet the man hadn’t shown a hint of fear the entire time. 

They hadn’t had a chance to speak about what had happened before the Titanic’s officers had appeared and promptly tried to arrest Merlin. Their only instance of contact had been his silent plea for Merlin to say nothing about his suicide attempt. That had been it. They had been unable to speak once he had been pulled back over the rail. 

As Arthur sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, one thing became clear to him, he had to speak to Merlin before the dinner that night. To thank him, to talk to him, to… feel like things were moving again. He wasn’t sure. All Arthur knew was he had to know him. He had to figure out why it felt like he knew the complete stranger as though they had met before. 

He threw back his sheets and hopped out of bed. Quickly, he decided that during the day, he’d be making a little venture down to the Titanic’s third class decks to chat with his familiar stranger. 

Ten minutes later Arthur was standing before his mirror fully dressed, looking every bit the perfect gentleman in his grey business suit. He looked completely normal, as if nothing had happened the previous evening, and maybe he’d believe nothing had if it weren’t for the jacket he’d slung over his chair that had a rip in it from his journey off the stern the previous evening. 

He walked out into the stateroom to find Excalibur still sitting in its box on the chaise lounge, his curiosity piqued by the sight of the sword. Though he recalled the lack of anything interesting happening last time he touched it, looking at it now he experienced a peculiar sense of longing he couldn’t quite reconcile with. 

Shaking off any desire he had to move towards the sword, he walked out of the room, vaguely recalling that he had promised to have breakfast with his father and Mithian that morning, despite having no interest in doing so. 

Still, after what had happened last night, he didn’t want to give them any more cause for concern for him by skipping breakfast, so he went, and he listened as his father, Mithian, and Morgana carried on a droning conversation that felt as though it dragged on into the next decade of his life. 

“What do you think of inviting the Astors to the wedding?” Mithian was saying, capturing Arthur’s attention for the first time in the entire meal . 

“The Astors?” Uther asked, “J.J and Madeline?”

Mithian gave him a nod, “Yes,” she replied, “They seem like such lovely people.”

Arthur scratched his head, recalling the Astors and the time--however brief-- they’d spent with them. It hadn’t felt like enough to trust them with coming to the wedding, but then again he didn’t know half of the guests as it was. Mithian’s family was a complete mystery to him, almost more so than Merlin was. He locked eyes with Morgana, who gave him a knowing smile before she intervened on the conversation, “Well, we should probably wait a few more days before we decide,” she said, resting a hand gently on Uther’s forearm, “Get to know the Astors a little better. We can’t just invite people to the wedding because of their wealth.”

Uther chuckled, “Oh, yes we can,” he replied, and the rest of the table shared an uncomfortable, forced laughter that left them all feeling empty inside. 

Once it was over, he stood up - perhaps a touch too quickly, as his hip bumped the table on his way up, shaking it slightly causing him to wince from pain -  and excused himself, claiming he had some business with another first class passenger to attend to. His father and Mithian seemed to believe it, but Morgana, who knew him all too well, looked up at him with confused eyes. They’d grown up together, they knew each other like siblings. If anyone could tell when he was lying, it was her. 

He begged her with his eyes to say nothing, and mercifully, she set to work on changing the subject with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face as she turned back to the group and regaled them with a tale of a trip she’d taken to London last spring. Arthur thanked her silently, then he made his way to the stern of the ship, toward the third class decks where he knew he’d find Merlin.

Arthur made sure to keep his head down as he rushed down flights of stairs, then decided against it as he looked at the expensive material of his suit. There was no hiding what he was, but it didn’t matter. He cared very little about avoiding the attention of the Titanic’s third class, his focus was on finding Merlin. 

Eventually, he made his way to the third class general room, a place teeming with life from the moment he walked in. Children ran about the room being scolded by their mothers in a multitude of different languages. Men and women, both young and old were in varying states of what he could easily describe as poverty sat around the room doing various trivial things as he watched. Some women were knitting--scarves, hats, or blankets, he couldn’t tell-- and several groups of men were playing cards. Both genders were casually sipping hot drinks and carrying on conversations that were for the most part incomprehensible to Arthur. 

The diversity of the third class was striking in comparison to that of the first. It seemed like the people here came in every shape, size, and color. A multitude of cultures were present just in the clothing of the passengers alone. They combined with one another to create a beautiful sort of tapestry of people who, unlike the first class in the decks above, appeared to be genuinely having a good time. The people here smiled, and when they did so it was genuine, not forced like it was when he watched people do it out of propriety in his world. The sight of it had the corners of his own mouth turning up slightly.

Taking a nervous breath, he stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning it for signs of the mysterious stranger who had saved his life last night. None of the faces he saw as he made his way  inward matched that of Merlin’s, and it wasn’t a face he’d soon forget, though a part of him felt like he had at one point forgotten. 

He shook the thought from his mind, and ventured further in, starting to gain more and more perplexed looks as he went. The third class passengers had started to take notice of him, and he could only hope he spotted Merlin before he caused too much of a commotion. 

At last, he spotted the dark haired man, or at least, someone who looked a hell of a lot like him from behind . He was sitting on a bench with hunched shoulders talking to a group of strangers when he spotted him, and a sense of relief rose within him as he thought that maybe he’d found the person he was looking for. The man had the same build as Merlin, the same hair color, narrow frame, and even the jacket and scarf combination. It had to be him. It had to be. 

As Arthur approached,  the men talking to the stranger he thought to be Merlin froze. When he did a double take, one of the men with long, dark hair stared up at him in a mixture of recognition and shock, his jaw dropping slightly as his mouth formed a perfect O, and his eyes widened slightly as they took in Arthur’s appearance. It registered somewhere in the back of Arthur’s mind that he too recognized the man, but he didn’t think too hard on it. The other man, sitting directly in front of Merlin looked up with a similar expression, and it felt odd that he recognized this face, too. The other two men sitting beside them didn’t seem to have any hint of recognition towards Arthur, just the shock of seeing a man so very clearly wealthy in their quarters. 

“Merlin,” the man sitting in front of him warned quietly, averting his gaze from Arthur’s.

The man in question turned around, and immediately stood up straight, his stance rigid, and his jaw dropped in shock as Arthur greeted him, “Hello, Merlin,” he said confidently, not a trace of the scared boy who had tried to throw himself off the stern of the ship the night before. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, looking as though he’d had the wind knocked out of his lungs, his eyes wide as he stared at him, “What the hell are you…?”

Arthur put up a hand to stop him from talking, “I need to speak  to you. Can we move somewhere private?”

Merlin nodded, but slowly, like he was still processing what he was hearing, “Of course, um… After you,” he replied, then he gestured to the general room’s exit, and Arthur made his way to it. 

He prided himself on the fact that he only looked back twice to make sure Merlin was following him as he led him back up the stairs onto the main deck of the ship. If Merlin had any issues with being led to the first class decks, he didn’t say anything, though that was more likely than not due to the sheer awkwardness between them. If the memory of what had happened the night before was flooding Merlin’s mind as much as it was flooding his, he knew precisely why. 

They remained silent as they emerged onto the boat deck, the cool air blowing Arthur’s hair back as he held the door open for Merlin, who thanked him quietly before they began a brisk stroll about the deck moving parallel to the starboard side railing. 

“Are you… er… Are you enjoying third class?” Arthur asked after the silence became far too unbearable, though somehow he felt like the small talk was worse. 

Merlin scratched his head beside him, “It’s good, yeah,” he replied plainly, “How are things in… in first?”

“Good, yes, good.”

“Wonderful.”

The conversation fell into a palpable silence, growing more awkward by the moment. Arthur sighed, and stopped their walk abruptly, “Listen, Merlin… I don’t know what I’m doing, but I knew I had to talk to you. It took me most of this morning to work up the nerve to face you.”

Merlin scoffed lightheartedly, “I didn’t think I was that intimidating.”

“Given what you nearly saw me do last night, anyone would be intimidating right about now,” Arthur admitted, then he sighed, “But that’s not the point. I wanted to thank you for what you did… For pulling me back, and your discretion.”

Merlin’s eyes held a solemn gaze with his as he looked into them, “I’d do it again,” he said, and it was clear he meant every word.

Arthur’s cheeks still flushed with embarrassment, “You must be wondering why I did it.”

“Admittedly, yes.”

“I know what you must be thinking. ‘Poor rich boy, what does he know of misery?’”

Merlin shook his head, looking at him with eyes too old for a man so young, “I was only wondering what could’ve possibly happened to you to make you think you had no other way out.”

Arthur looked around the ship, watching the people of his social class move about the deck. They had the world handed to them on a silver platter. Everything just came to them without them having to ask. All they had to do was be born to earn what they had, and Arthur knew he should be grateful that he lived their life instead of the one the man standing beside him was living, but he couldn’t find it within himself to feel that way. It was those people after all who had driven him to the Titanic’s stern the night before, it was them and the prospect of becoming one of them that… 

It truly hit him that he’d tried to end his own life last night, “It was them,” he confessed, gesturing to the people walking about the ship, “Them and their whole world… And it feels like I’m trapped in it, Merlin, like an insect in amber. And last night, I realized how miserable it made me, and I had to get away, so I ran. Next thing I knew I was at the stern of the ship, and there was nowhere else to run but the Atlantic, so I climbed over the rail. 

“I was so angry, I was… I was furious… I thought I’d show them, that they’d be sorry, but… It would’ve been rather pointless, wouldn’t it?”

“You would’ve been dead, Arthur,” Merlin reminded him, causing Arthur to laugh, and look down at the ground. 

“I was a fool,” he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. 

“A clotpole, more like,” Merlin said, the word,  so strange, carried a sense of dejavu. 

Arthur scratched his head, “Clot...pole?” he asked, sounding it out as if he had no idea what it was, though somehow he did despite knowing with absolute certainty he hadn’t ever heard it. 

Merlin smiled, the sight of it making the already bright sunlight that much more blinding, “It’s nothing, just a word I made up.”

He raised an eyebrow at it, but didn’t question it as they resumed their walk down the boat deck, falling into a much more comfortable silence as they strolled along. 

“So the people last night, were they…?”

“The people I wanted to escape? Yes.”

“So, who’s who?” Merlin asked, though Arthur got the feeling he already knew more than he was letting on. 

“The man? My father, he’s the one that’s put me here in the first place.”

“How so?”

“He arranged a marriage between myself and one of the women, Mithian. She’s a lovely woman, but…”

“You don’t love her,” Merlin said bluntly, and they stopped their walk again as they passed a row of deck chairs. 

Arthur froze in place at hearing the truth spoken aloud by someone who didn’t even know him. The sound of the wind roared in his ear for a moment, despite the breeze being fairly light, “Pardon me?”

“Wasn’t that what you were going to say?” Merlin asked, “That you aren’t in love with her?” He laughed lightly, and yet his smile didn’t reach his eyes, it barely even left the corners of his mouth. Through Merlin’s eyelashes he could see vivid blue like the sea around them, his gaze far too wise and knowing for his young age as it bore into him, staring almost into his soul, “Forgive me, but I could see it in your eyes. You care for her, but you don’t love her. You don’t want to marry her. If you could get out of it, you would, but I know a bit about how your world works… You can’t get out of it, and that’s why you ran last night.”

An awkward laugh escaped Arthur’s lips as he stared at Merlin in bewilderment, “You can’t say stuff like that, it’s absurd,  _ you’re  _ absurd.”

“Can’t say what? The truth?” Merlin asked, stepping in front of Arthur, directly into his personal space. There was nothing between them but the soft wind blowing in from the ocean now, the chill in the air causing goosebumps to rise on his arms beneath his coat. Arthur knew he should’ve been bothered by it, but for some reason, he wasn’t. It was like they’d been in this exact situation many times before… 

Arthur scoffed, then he looked for something,  _ anything _ , he could use to change the subject. He settled on the black journal  that Merlin had been carrying around with him the entire time they’d been talking, and quickly reached for it, snatching it from the other man’s hands before he could say a damn thing in protest, “What have we here?”

“Don’t,” Merlin warned, reaching for the book, but Arthur now had it far out of his reach, keeping it up above his head, “ _ Arthur. _ ”

“Oh, come on, can’t I take a peak?” he asked, walking over to a deck chair, and sitting on it as he began to flip through the pages of the book, observing instantly that it was full of drawings. Not just any sketches, either, but all of the drawings were true to life drawings. They were absolutely beautiful renditions of people, places, animals, and other things that looked like they were almost photographs of their subjects. 

“Merlin, these are rather good,” he told him, flipping past a drawing of an old man smoking a cigar, the regretful expression on his aged face captured perfectly by Merlin’s hand. “They’re very good, they’re… beautiful even.”

The other man shrugged, “No one thought too much of them in Europe,” he explained, “I traveled all over with a friend of mine, Lancelot.”

“Were you hoping to sell these? Is that why?”

“No, I was… looking for something.”

“Did you ever find it?” Arthur asked, no longer looking at the drawings, but at Merlin now. 

He nodded, “I did,” he said, then their eyes met once again, Merlin’s features resolved into a serious, but soft expression, relaxed even as the sun bore down onto them, nearly blinding the two men as they sat on the deck. 

Arthur laughed nervously, then flipped to an image of a middle aged man leaning against a railing, the ocean behind him gray instead of blue, but the impact of it was all the same. It became clear to him very quickly that this image had been drawn on the Titanic itself, which was made even more obvious by the date Merlin had written at the bottom. “Do you know any of these people?” he asked. 

“Some, yes,” Merlin replied, “But most of them are complete strangers, and I never speak a word to any of them.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, he just turned the page from the drawing of the old man, and found himself stumbling on drawings of men in medieval battle gear that looked very familiar. It occurred to him that these were the men he’d been speaking to down in the third class general room, but there was another reason--he was certain of it-- that these faces looked so familiar. On top of that, the crest that each wore on their capes sent his memory reeling. That deja vu tugged at him, but he still couldn’t place it. 

It felt like the previous night when he’d first touched the sword, and he’d seen -  _ hallucinated _ \- himself and Merlin positioned over the stone while he attempted to free the sword from it. He saw flashes of these men in full life and color, in stages of battle or walking around by his side, laughing, talking, and having a good time. That seal, those capes - unlike the charcoal gray they appeared to be in Merlin’s drawings they were red - were present in each one. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, his voice sounding far away,  as though he was at the far end of a tunnel, “Arthur?”

The second time he said his name, Arthur snapped out of it, and looked back at Merlin, “Sorry, did you say something?”

“No, nothing, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just a headache,” Arthur lied, rubbing at his head to sell his fib, “Didn’t eat much this morning.” Another lie, and it was obvious that Merlin didn’t believe him, but like last night, he, mercifully,  didn’t call him out on it. 

“Better now?”

“Much, thank you,” Arthur said, then he pointed to the drawing, “Where’d you get the inspiration for this one? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Merlin shook his head, “Not at all,” he told him, “This one was…” he paused, searching for the words to tell his story with, “This one was inspired by Arthurian legend.”

Arthur cocked his head to the side, “What made you want to draw it? Bring it to life?”

This time it was Merlin who was obviously lying to him, “I… well… I don’t know, I just… Drew it,” he replied, shifting awkwardly on the seat and looking away from Arthur. He suddenly looked at the drawing fascinated, as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen in his whole life.

Though he knew Merlin was lying, he didn’t question it, instead he smiled at Merlin, and gave him a nod as he closed the book, and handed it back to him, “Come on,” he said, getting up off the chair, “There’s more I wanted to talk to you about.”

Merlin returned his smile, then he too stood up, and they resumed their stroll along the deck. As the time passed, they talked about a number of things. Arthur told him his life’s story, which Merlin seemed much more interested in than his own. When they talked about Merlin’s life growing up, the story that came off with a multitude of half truths and subbed in names that had Arthur thinking he truly didn’t care for it, or that it wasn’t something he was comfortable talking about. 

“You know, it wouldn’t be so terrible to live your life,” Arthur told him as they leaned against the railing, watching the sun begin to set off the starboard side of the ship. 

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at him, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re free, Merlin, you can do whatever you want whenever you want to. I’m trapped.”

Beside him, Merlin chuckled, looking out at the sea as the sun set ahead of them, “You wouldn’t last a day.”

“How would you know?”

“Well, for starters, there’s no hot water, and there’s definitely no fancy food like caviar or something…”   


“Good thing I hate caviar then.”

“Arthur, it’s harder than it looks, I’m lucky, I know how to handle myself out there, I’ve been doing it for longer than you can imagine, and it’s not… It’s not easy.”

A particularly cold gust of wind hit them then, and Arthur shivered slightly, “I know it’s easier to be like me, but… Merlin I can’t help but feel like I was destined for something better than this. I’m supposed to be something more than just some businessman’s son. I can feel it.”

Going by the look on Merlin’s face, he agreed with him, an agreement he was quick to vocalize, “I think you were meant for better things, too.”

“What makes you say that? Is it just so you can make me feel better?”

Merlin shook his head, “No, no, because if you weren’t you wouldn’t want them so badly,” he explained, “You wouldn’t want to even entertain the idea of living a life like mine if you didn’t believe that you were more than just an heir.”

“Hmm…” Arthur thought for a moment on what Merlin had said, staring at the line where the Titanic met the ocean, cutting into its glassy, smooth surface, and creating white mists that stood out against the black paint the ship was coated with.

“But what would you be?” Merlin asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the railing, “If you had your way and you weren’t what you are, what would you be?”

Arthur thought for a moment, then he looked down at the sketchbook Merlin still held in his hand, “An artist, like you, drawing people from life,” he said. 

Merlin laughed, “Have you ever even picked up a piece of charcoal?”

“No,” Arthur admitted sheepishly, then a grin appeared on Merlin’s face as he led him back over to the deck chairs.

“Let me show you,” Merlin said, then he pulled out the sketchbook and the charcoal and handed them to Arthur, who looked at him with somewhat wide, frightened eyes. 

“I should warn you, this is going to look awful,” Arthur told him, “I’d hate to ruin your book with my scribbling.”

“My book will be made all the better by your ‘scribbling.’ Now, let’s find you a subject.”

Merlin looked around at their surroundings as Arthur watched, his gaze falling on a number of people and things, but eventually landing on the setting sun off in the distance ahead of them, “Let’s start with the sunset.”

Arthur gave him a nervous glance, “Where do I start?”

The man sitting next to him shrugged, and moved closer, pointing out the line where the sky met the sea, “Start there at the horizon,” he almost whispered, the volume of his voice making the moment feel almost too intimate in the sea of people surrounding them. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, but he pressed on, slowly drawing a line across the paper with as much grace as he could muster. 

“There, I’ve drawn a single line,” he declared sarcastically, “Now what?”

Merlin continued to prove himself an excellent instructor as the lesson went on, though Arthur was fairly certain that what he’d come up with more so resembled a bunch of nonsense than the beautiful sunset before them. “This looks terrible,” he told Merlin, “It looks like a child drew it.”

“It’s not that bad,” Merlin said, “I’ve seen worse.  _ That _ at least  _ looks _ like a sunset.”

Arthur gave him a laugh, but before he could say anything else, a bugler sounded out the mealtime call, and he sighed. Though he’d been talking with Merlin for hours, he hadn’t exactly wanted the conversation to end. The time he’d spent up on the deck with Merlin - though awkward at first - had been the most fun he’d had in months, years even. He hated that damn dinner bell now more than ever. 

“Well, it seems we must part for now,” Arthur said, handing Merlin’s charcoal and sketchbook back to him, “Thank you for your time, I had a wonderful afternoon.”

“As did I,” Merlin replied, “I suppose I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

“You will.” He then turned to leave, but before he took even one step, a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to Merlin, “Have you got anything to wear?”

Merlin looked down at his clothes and shrugged, “I was just going to come as I am. I hadn’t really thought about it to be perfectly honest.”

Arthur almost smirked, “That’s what I thought,” he said, then he took Merlin by the arm, and started to lead him toward the entrance to the first class decks, much to the other man’s surprise, “You’re about to head into a snake pit, and if you go in there looking the way you do now, you will be eaten alive.”

“Your world sounds like so much fun.”

“Tell me about it,” Arthur replied as a steward opened the door for them and gave Merlin an odd look as they walked by. He assured the steward that Merlin was indeed in the right place before he continued, leading Merlin down into the halls of the ship where only the richest resided. 

Merlin’s eyes were wide as Arthur led him to his stateroom, checking to make sure that neither Mithian, nor his father were there before he ushered  the other man inside, “We need to make you look as if you’re made of money,” he explained, “And I’m no expert in fashion, but those are definitely what people like me would call rags.”

“My rags are offended,” Merlin replied sarcastically as Arthur led him into his bedroom, and began trifling through the suitcase he’d packed full of suits before settling on one of three tuxedos he’d decided to bring with him to America. 

He pulled the various pieces of the suit out of his suitcase, and handed them to Merlin, “Here. Hopefully they’ll fit. You’re skinnier than a rat.”

“Now you’ve offended the rats,” Merlin replied as he looked around the space, “Where can I…?”   


Arthur pointed out a door on the far side of the room, “Bathroom’s right there, I’ll be here if you need me.”

“What would I need you for? I know how to work a button, I’m not  _ that  _ poor,” Merlin said, and they both laughed again as he walked into the bathroom, and Arthur worked on pulling out his own dinnertime suit. 

As Arthur took off his daytime suit jacket, he looked out the window to see that the sun had nearly finished setting, and the dark of twilight had taken over the skies above the Atlantic. He remembered the sunset Merlin had just helped him to draw moments earlier, and another smile rose to his face as he thought of the next several hours. For once, he wouldn’t feel remarkably alone at dinner. He’d finally found someone whose company he genuinely enjoyed, the friendship he’d struck up with Merlin surpassing the vastly different social classes they came from. 

At the same time, he felt remarkably nervous. Merlin - to his knowledge - had never encountered people like this in their natural setting. He was clueless on what to do, how to act, or how to speak. As Arthur put the finishing touches on his wardrobe change, he swallowed nervously. Hopefully Merlin would catch on to the norms of the first class quickly, or else this would be one long night.   
  
  
  



End file.
